


red

by disfordinosaur



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disfordinosaur/pseuds/disfordinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter hates the color red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red

It's not until after their second return from Narnia that Peter realizes how much he despises the color red. This observation does not come without it's ironies, mind you. In Narnia, red had been his color. It was the primary look of many tunics, cloaks, and capes, and was emblazoned across his shield in the form of a lion, as bright as a ripe strawberry.

In England, red was dull and unattractive. The color of bleak despair and pain. It was in the jackets of his sister's school uniforms, matching those of hundreds of others. It was painted onto the sides of vans and trucks in the shape of a cross. It was the color of the tube of lipstick their mother allowed Susan to purchase one drizzly afternoon.

When he first sees that coating of red, Peter is baffled. Why on earth would she need such a thing here, when in Narnia she'd grown up just fine without it? He knows he is not the only one with this question and several more, but like Edmund and Lucy, he remains dutifully silent throughout dinner.

Susan's cheeks blush prettily when he corners her about it later on. Smeary and blood red, staining porcelain pale skin. The sight makes his heart throb. She informs him in that infuriating, know-it-all sisterly tone that many girls her age have begun not wearing only lipstick, but mascara and blush, and really Peter, since when did her business suddenly become his?

He finds himself seeing red when Susan returns home one night well past her established curfew, appearing windblown and giddy. She's started wearing dresses that cinch-in at the waist and stop just around the knee. Nylons show off calves that knee-socks used to hide. Voicing frustrations and concerns to his parents is next to useless; mum smiles, while dad laughs and claps him on the shoulder. What a good older brother you are, Peter!

There's alcohol on her breath when she leans in close, but that's not what makes him dizzy. Her makeup is smeared, and her dress seems to hang more loosely off of one shoulder. Dancing half of the night does that, he is told, offered a sluggish pat on the chest and a dangerous kiss on the cheek. It teeters, flirting with the corner of his mouth and stretch of skin over cheek. Marking him with red.

Peter cannot help but despise the foul color, in England and in Narnia.

It gives him hope.


End file.
